


who brings the thoughts of home

by Issay



Series: One-shot collection [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Cute, Durmstrang, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Not Canon Compliant, Second War with Voldemort, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11736321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issay/pseuds/Issay
Summary: "Never promise without knowing what you're promising," grandmother instructs, her voice sharp. "Promise me you'll never allow people to use you, Viktor. You'll never follow mad men who promise you power. You'll always do what is right."[Or: in which Viktor Krum gets a backstory, falls in love with a lioness and doesn't let her go.]





	who brings the thoughts of home

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell, brain.  
> It's probably the first time I wrote something that is (at the same time) het, rooted in canon and has something of a happy ending. Be gentle.

His first broom is given to him by his grandmother when Viktor is five and she watches him soar over the family manor's grounds, flying as natural as breathing to him.

"Duck on ground," she mutters, clapping with self-satisfaction. "Eagle in flight."

He doesn’t remember her well, she dies before he's seven but in his memory she'll be always preserved as this tall, regal figure in dark purple robes, with braided crown of silver hair and imposing presence. Grandmother never spent a lot of time with him, running the family's multiple businesses and preparing Viktor's father to take over after her death always too important and time-consuming. But he remembers one afternoon in particular, forever etched into his memory. It had to be shortly before her death as she wasn't feeling well already, giving audiences in her sitting room instead of going out to offices. It was late afternoon, dark outside, Viktor thinks it was raining. Or wasn't it? It's not important. He was seated in front of the fireplace reading a book on Slavic mythology when she called him to her side.

"Come here, child," she reaches out, her old and dry hands catching his and pulling closer. "Don't be afraid. I need you to promise me something."

"Of course, Baba," he agrees with the readiness of a child, maybe impatient to come back to his book. Her fingers tighten on his.

"Never promise without knowing what you're promising," grandmother instructs, her voice sharp. "Promise me you'll never allow people to use you, Viktor. You'll never follow mad men who promise you power. You'll always do what is right."

They stare at each other for a long moment, droplets of rain hitting the window glass, fire cracking in the hearth.

"I promise," Viktor says with all seriousness a six year old boy can muster and she kisses his forehead.

She dies not long after that afternoon, quietly passing in her sleep.

When Viktor is ten, mother - in a rare moment of maternal desire to spend some time with her only child - offers a story of his father's father, man murdered by a mad man who offered him power, and about how grandmother has never forgiven him for that.

"I understand," Viktor mutters, deep in thought. Mother doesn't notice, her attention already drawn by the stack of invitations that need to be answered and dress robes to be picked.

 

He's almost eleven when they ship him off to Durmstrang. Viktor accepts it, knowing that from this day forward until he's an adult he'll be allowed to come home only for Yule and in the summer. Being at school isn't that different from being home - he's still the same awkward, ugly little boy who walks like a duck and has bushy eyebrows that make him similar to an angry bird. He doesn't really make any friends, instead he has some allies but in all fairness he prefers to be left alone. When his schoolmates are up to no good, playing pranks and causing mischief, Viktor spends evenings over books or on his broom.

It's not long before his flying abilities are noticed.

Viktor is thirteen when he makes peace with fame. There are recruiters and wannabe managers writing him owls and giving him unwanted gifts. Karkaroff treats him like the golden boy he is, great student and even greater athlete, and suddenly there are people claiming to be Viktor's friends, girls winking at him, and all he wants is to be left alone. Eventually he accepts it and learns to live with it, hopes to get through school without drawing too much attention gone for good.

Still, when one day he sees some boys from upper years use his grandfather's murderer's symbol, he teaches them a lesson they'll never forget. Karkaroff has no option, he calls Krum Senior to his office. Ivan looks down at his son's bloodied knuckles and nods, visibly satisfied.

"I'm proud of you, son," he says for the first - and probably only - time, and something inside Viktor flutters regretfully at how little he cares about his father's pride.

The headmaster doesn't dare to punish him.

When Viktor is sixteen, Vasily Dimitrov comes to Durmstrang to talk to him.

"The national team needs you," he states without a moment of hesitation, this Quidditch star, Viktor's long-time idol, standing in the middle of a schoolyard talking to a teenager. "The World Cup is in two years and we're down a Seeker.

"Let's go fly."

They do and it's rare for Viktor to share his wild joy of flying over the cold waves of Baltic Sea, so rare that when they finally land - breathless and cold and so bloody alive - he agrees. This means that now he has to juggle his school work as well as the school quidditch league, and the national team trainings. Karkaroff teaches him to Apparate and gets the Bulgarian Wizarding Ministry to issue a special license even though Viktor is still underage. He doesn't mind. He doesn't really have time to ever question it.

His father congratulates him in a letter, his mother comes to see Viktor's first game in Bulgarian colors, her new lover at her side, not even trying to be discreet. Viktor pretends he isn't sickened by it and if his teammates notice there’s anything wrong with their youngest Seeker in history of the sport, no one says a thing. They still win, he still shines - but he doesn't care about it, all he wants to fly and hope that cold and speed will somehow take the image of his mother in the stranger's arms away from his eyes.

It doesn't. Viktor never says anything to her, nor to his father. After all it's none of his business, is it?

"You're a mystery wrapped in an enigma," Mykola, Viktor's schoolmate, says one day. "No one really knows what's going on in that big head of yours, you know?"

‘I don't think you'd like what's going on in there,’ Viktor wants to say. ‘I think you're a pompous asshole and you're not worth my time, pal.’

But eventually Viktor doesn't say anything, instead choosing to send Mykola a half-smile and walk away.

 

It's 1994 and Quidditch World Cup takes all of Viktor's time. His flying is phenomenal, his team works well together, and they want this oh so badly. For fame. For fortune. For seasons-long contracts. For the five minutes in the spotlight.

Viktor just wants to fly. The crowd roars when he does and it makes him think of the Baltic Sea meeting rocky shores; the rush of adrenaline is addicting, he doesn’t want it to ever end, even with the final game in sight.

It ends - and Viktor takes this bittersweet win-loss with the same stoic expression he takes everything else. He cannot change what happened so he takes the money they pay them and buys a small cottage in the middle of some ancient forest, wards it the best he can and says nothing to no one. It’ll wait for him to finish his last year, give him someplace to come home to – and it looks like he’s going to need something to look forward to.

"Triwizard Tournament in Hogwarts," announces Karkaroff that September. "I'm sure you'll be our Champion, who else if not you, my boy?"

'Maybe someone who wants it,' Viktor nearly says. 'I'm tired and I don't want your attention, you old fool.'

He doesn't says anything, only half-smiles and walks away, his steps graceless and his brows bushy as always.

 

Hogwarts is different from Durmstrang - and yet so similar. It's warmer here and there's no sea, which Viktor regrets as he flies over the lake and the forest, not allowing his body to forget the rigorous training it's gotten used to. He's chosen to be the Champion, accepts it with without a word, and waits for the First Task. Their stay in Britain has two big upsides: the fact that on the ship Viktor has his own room, and the Hogwarts Library filled with books he hasn't read yet. He manages to secure a permit from Headmaster Dumbledore (the man's eyes are twinkling strangely as he signs the parchment, Viktor feels strangely unsettled) to borrow books but there's never any quiet on the ship so he takes to sitting in the library. Viktor pretends not to notice the flock of young girls - as well as some boys - following him around. He's used to it by now.

There's a girl in robes trimmed with red who never seems to notice him, only frowns slightly when his fans are too loud and bother her. She's a pretty young thing, at least in his opinion; others would probably say something about her bushy hair and ink-stained fingers, the purposeful and not at all feminine way she walks. Viktor finds her appearance strangely endearing. Also, she keeps hoarding books he'd like to read. It's mildly irritating.

When few years later he thinks back to this moment, he probably fell in love that rainy afternoon just before the First Task when she lost her patience and wordlessly jinxed several of his loudest fangirls, with almost unnoticeable movements of her wand causing them to look around, confused and disoriented. As the herd dispersed, Viktor couldn't help but snicker. The girl - the lioness - looked up from her book and smiled innocently.

 

It's ridiculous. He's a worldwide quidditch star. He's the brightest wizard in Durmstrang. He has faced the dragon and survived. And yet, Viktor Krum seems to be too much of a coward to ask a girl to accompany him to the Yule Ball. He sees her every day in the library - her name is Hermione and to his endless irritation, his tongue and lips refuse to pronounce it correctly - and every day promises himself that tomorrow, yes, tomorrow he will ask.

He doesn't.

Few days after that he startles as she puts a pile of heavy tomes on the table he’s occupying, sits down right across from him and observes him for a long moment. Viktor tries not to squirm. He might be failing.

"You've been watching me for the better part of the month," she states in a dry whisper. "I can't be that interesting and I'm most definitely not feeding you information on Harry. Are we clear?"

"I-information?" He stutters, dear Nerida, he stutters.

"What else could you want from me?"

Her angry eyes are golden and from this close Viktor notices the small details that evaded him before, like the soft arch of her upper lip and the barely visible freckles high on her cheekbones.

"Vould you go to the Yule Ball vith me?"

Hermione blinks, absolutely startled. To be honest, so is he because the question just slipped out and that hasn't happened to him before. Viktor can hear her take a deep breath and mentally fortifies himself, sure he's going to be let down, just like with everything else he's ever wanted...

"Yes, I think I’d like that. Very much."

...oh.

She blushes, smiles to him softly, gathers her books and leaves. Viktor sits there for a long time, wondering what the hell just happened.

 

He goes to the Ball with her and ignores Karkaroff's sour expression. Hermione’s blood status doesn't matter to him: she's the most beautiful young woman in this castle, and most intelligent at that; Viktor thoroughly enjoys her acid commentary muttered into the fur collar of his robes. That’s what matters in the long run, isn’t it?

(In another world Ron Weasley is unable to hold his mouth shut and ruins Hermione's evening. In this one Harry Potter is an awesome friend who keeps Ron away from the third member of the Golden Trio the whole night.)

That evening feels like a lifetime – and it feels too short at the same time. When it’s almost curfew, Viktor escorts her back to the Gryffindor tower and presses a careful, chaste kiss on her rosy lips. Hermione blushes but pulls him for a second, more thorough one.

Indeed, a lioness.

"Goodnight," she whispers into his lips and leaves him alone in the corridor. Viktor smiles to himself and feels grateful for the freezing air cooling his cheeks as he walks back to the ship.

Things change between them after the ball – they start sharing a table in the library, he's finally able to pronounce her name right, the fangirls are seething. Hermione seems to slightly enjoy tormenting the herd of Viktor's stalkers, especially as she hands him a piece of parchment and leans into a careful kiss, nothing too forward in public but still more than a peck. Viktor walks in a dreamlike haze, not even bothered by the fact that closer to the Second Task she spends more time helping Potter. She rewards his understanding with long walks around the lake and several heated discussions of their favorite books.

During the Second Task Viktor isn't particularly surprised to see that Hermione is his hostage - there aren't many things in life he would miss so it was either her or his Firebolt.

Sometime later Potter tells him about the hateful mail she's been getting from his fans and the world disgusts Viktor and, what is even worse, he is absolutely helpless as he can't protect her from this. For a moment he thinks about breaking things off - but for once in his life Viktor decides to be selfish. Anyway, he doesn't want to presume how much his witch is willing to take: if Hermione decides it's too much, he'll let her go. He tells her that, his voice hesitant. Hermione laughs and promises to keep that in mind but her fingers tighten on his hand.

Viktor doesn't really remember the Third Task.

He wakes up in what he assumes is Hospital Wing, Hermione's hand gently resting against his heart.

"Vhat..."

"You were Imperiused," she says quietly. Viktor checks the big clock hanging above the entrance - it's the middle of the night and the room is semi-dark, only a couple of candles still burning. "The Task is over. It was a trap, all of it..." Her voice trembles. In the faint light Viktor sees that she's been crying, no, she is crying, there are fresh tears on her cheeks. "The Cup was a portkey, Harry and Cedric touched it at the same time. Cedric is dead, V-Voldemort is back."

"Potter?"

"Safe. He managed to escape and came back with Cedric's b-body. Oh Victor, it could have been..."

She's crying too hard to say anything more so Viktor swallows his questions, pulls her onto the bed and holds her close as she weeps, clinging to him like a scared child.

 

Saying goodbye to her is almost unimaginable. Viktor makes her promise she'll come to Bulgaria - oh, yes, he knows, she's not yet sixteen, she needs her parents to agree but it's too hard to leave her there, not knowing when he'll see her again.

Hermione promises, her lips against his. Pulling away is probably the hardest thing he's ever done - and the intensity of this feeling hits him with the force of a Bludger to the stomach. Viktor Krum has never been in love. Until now.

(In another version of this story Hermione Granger never goes to Bulgaria. Instead, she corresponds with Viktor for several years, fights in a war, and eventually marries Ronald Weasley. But that's not going to happen here.)

 

_I'll take an international portkey to Sofia next Thursday - should be there by noon. Come and get me._

_Love,_

_H._

 

Viktor is afraid he won't know what to do. He's restocked the pantry and cleaned the cottage, resorted books in his library (twice), all with the terrifying realization that he has no idea what to do when having a guest. Especially a pretty, female guest he's romantically interested in.

But all the panic melts away when he picks her up at the portkey site in the middle of wizarding Sofia and she throws herself into his arms with no hesitation. Viktor's pretty sure it's going to make the papers tomorrow.

He decides he doesn't really care.

"My parents don't really know what to do with me," she admits when later he asks if she had any trouble convincing them. "They love me, don't get me wrong. But they're not a part of this world, you know? So they seemed a bit relieved when I told them I wanted to go and visit you."

She says it in a light tone but Viktor sees a shade of sadness in her eyes so to chase it away he shares some stories from his childhood, like the one with a flock of seagulls taking him for a really big prey, or how his Baba fought wars with his father to allow him to fly.

 

Hermione falls in love with his little cottage. Even with expanding charms making it a comfortable but still cozy living space, it's not a lot and he was a bit concerned. But she laughs and calls it beautiful and homey and comfortable, and Viktor feels strangely proud.

"I could stay here forever," she murmurs few days later when they're resting on a soft grass underneath an ancient tree, watching the clouds move above them.

"Then do," he says without thinking. When she turns onto her side to look at him, Hermione notices a slight blush on his cheeks. "I mean, after you're done vith school, of course."

She reaches out to gently caress the beginning of his beard with the tips of her fingers, something warm and loving in her eyes. But then the sadness comes, deepening the lines of her face.

"There's a war coming," Hermione says quietly. "And I'll be on the front lines of it, you know I’ll be a target. I can't make plans, Viktor."

He catches her hand and presses a kiss to each and every finger. He hates the thought of war, of people wanting to hurt her only because her parentage isn’t to their liking or because she’s someone’s best friend. It is her ferocity in defending Harry Potter, in protecting him from the world, that he finds so absolutely amazing, among other things about Hermione Granger. Maybe because no one ever fought for him like she did for that orphan boy facing impossible odds.

Maybe because he hopes one day she’ll fight for him like this.

"Then don't plan. Just remember it's an option."

She nods and leans to kiss him, chasing all thoughts away.

 

Viktor promises himself to teach her everything he can in order to help her survive the oncoming storm. So they spend their days duelling, he shows her spells and jinxes and a few useful little potions, like the one producing smoke that allows a person to disappear unnoticed or the one masking one's scent.

He takes her flying. Hermione's not a fan but she has to admit that the wild forests of Eastern Europe are beautiful and nothing like what she could ever see in Britain.

On the last night, just before she's set to go back home, she spends an hour in his potions workshop and emerges with two bottles of something that looks like ink.

"I want to be able to write you and not wonder whether or not my letters get intercepted," Hermione explains when squeezing a drop of her own blood from a small cut and allowing it to fall into one of the bottles. "So I've made an ink only the person whose blood is in it can read. Give me your hand, Viktor."

He bleeds into the bottle and kisses her like it's the last kiss he'll ever give her, like the world will end after she's gone back to England. He pulls back with a small groan, careful of not pushing past the boundaries of his own will.

"You're still too young, my dear," he murmurs into the thin skin of her neck. She shivers, pressed into him as hard as she can, but doesn't oppose. Hermione knows him pretty well by now, realizes it’s too soon for the things he wants to do to her, with her.

Viktor Apparates them to the portkey and watches her wave goodbye and disappear. When he's back at the cottage, it feels bigger and colder than it used to.

 

They spend much of her fifth year exchanging letters - she has gotten herself an owl especially for this so that his Entreri could rest more. Hermione, like she promised, writes about everything - classes, school gossip, the vision of exams looming on the horizon, another unpleasant encounter with the pureblood supremacists from Slytherin. Between the lines, in ink only Viktor can see, she worries about Harry's growing instability, tells him about that foul woman who "teaches" Defense and about the blood quills used during detentions.

He writes back. About how his mother is trying to get a divorce from his father and it's a scandal, about press hounding him during trainings with the team, about the games and the books he's been reading. For her eyes only, he discusses merits and dangers of running an independent Defense study group, rages at the barbarity of corporeal punishment and worries about Hermione.

Sometime in the middle of the school year there's a sentence that chills blood in his veins because the immediate reality of the war - now, not in a few years when she's an adult and she's ready to fight in it - hits him hard. _Owls are being checked and letters are read_ , she notes close to the ending of her latest missive. _Good thing we have this ink._

During winter break, Viktor doesn't go to see Hermione. He goes to see Albus Dumbledore and becomes a part of the Order, tasked with smuggling information in and out of Britain.

For Christmas, he gives Hermione a bracelet, silver braids with amber eyes, one stone bigger than the rest. _Break the biggest one,_ he writes in the personalized ink, _and it will become a portkey directly to my house. You will always find safety here._

 

She doesn't tell him about the battle in the Department of Mysteries until she's back in Bulgaria, contently surrounded by his arms, rain falling outside the walls of his small cottage. Viktor can feel his arms tightening as she talks about Death Eaters in masks and about Unforgivable curses pointed at her, about how fearless she acted but how scared she really was.

"I'm not sure how long we'll be able to stay at Hogwarts," she says eventually. "I'll need to be prepared."

"I'll help you," Viktor kisses her hair and for a long moment simply allows himself to be glad that she's here, in his arms, alive and smelling of rain.

It's a strange summer. Colder and more rainy than any Viktor remembers, as if the nature itself already felt the disturbance in the order of things. Like the year before, he spends it teaching Hermione: but it's different, somehow, more hurried and less relaxed than it felt before. He shows her how to ward a campsite so it won't be discovered and in return she teaches him how to make his patronus relay spoken messages. Together they watch her otter and his boar, silvery shadows between the trees.

"There will be a point when I won't be able to write letters," she muses. "I guess patronus is the quickest way of telling you I'm still alive. And back, Viktor. I need you to send it back so I know for sure."

"I vill," he ensures her.

During that cold and desperate summer she crawls into his bed under the cover of darkness and refuses to leave. Viktor is a man of strong will but even he has his limits and she's nearly seventeen so gently, lovingly he takes her virginity and whispers confessions into her sweaty skin. Hermione doesn't want to waste time, he realizes much later. Just in case she doesn't make it.

"I vish it vas all around," he grumbles one day. "I vish it vas me facing a var, and you safe in the forests."

His witch drops the book she's been holding, crosses the room and takes his face into her hands, making him look at her.

"The only way I can get through this is having you to come back to, Viktor. Stay in the safe forests and don't do anything stupid, love."

It's against his every instinct but he promises to stay out of danger, like the love-struck fool he is.

 

Her leaving isn't any easier this time.

Viktor comes back home and dreams about teaching bushy-haired children to fly on their first little brooms. He wakes with fear squeezing his insides.

 

_I think Slughorn invited me only because our names are linked in the press_ , she writes after the year begins. _As if by 'collecting' me, he's also getting to you._

_I also worry about Dumbledore's motives. He's been awfully secretive and Harry doesn't want to tell me what he's doing when he goes to the headmaster's office. It scares me, not knowing what to expect._

Yes, that is the problem - what to expect?

While she's at school, Viktor plays quidditch and establishes evacuation routes out of Britain. A system of safe houses, hidden caches and wands, means to sneak out of the potentially dangerous zone in case the worst happens and Voldemort wins the war. Viktor knows Dumbledore has his own agenda - though the man maybe has beaten Grindelwald in the past, the Krum family passed down stories about the supposed closeness between the current Hogwarts headmaster and the Dark Lord of the past. It would be stupid to fully trust the man and Viktor writes as much in his next letter to Hermione.

He doesn't tell her though about the deal he's made with Dumbledore: if things go wrong, she's the first one to be evacuated. She doesn't need to know and it's something that makes Viktor's sleep a bit easier at night.

_Harry's almost as paranoid as last year_ , she writes later, sometime in the middle of winter. _Ron is angry half the time, attach to Lavender's face the other half. Sometimes it feels like I'm the last sane person in this tower._

Spring is endless, Viktor counts down months until the end of her school year, then weeks. He's down to days when one evening her patronus appears in the middle of his living room, scaring the hell out of him.

"Death Eaters at Hogwarts," silver otter says in Hermione's teary, unsteady voice. "Dumbledore's dead. Stay at home, I'm unharmed. I’ll come to you as previously decided."

Then it disappears and it takes every ounce of strength Viktor has to not reach for his Firebolt and fly to Scotland.

 

She arrives few days later than he thought she would - but suddenly it doesn't matter because he has his arms full of a witch hell-bent on hugging and kissing him at the same time. He laughs and Apparates them home: because yes, that's what it is now, their home.

He sees there's something tormenting her. A shadow in her eyes that wasn't there before, a tired bending of her head, forced cheer in her smile. Viktor doesn't ask. He waits until she tells him.

She does when they're in bed, tangled together, sated for the moment, enjoying the skin to skin contact. In a hushed voice Hermione tells him about Obliviating her parents and about how they're not going back to Hogwarts.

"Vat do you need?"

Her fingers twitch in his and then relax. Only then does he understand that Hermione was afraid of his judgment, and he hurries to kiss the worries away.

"I need everything we can find on horcruxes," she tells him long, blissful moments later. "The rest... Viktor, you've been preparing me for this for the last two years."

So he did.

They dig through everything he's had on horcuxes - Viktor wanted to write to an old professor of his but Hermione deems it too dangerous - and hone her duelling skills, this time with more dark magic and less childish prank jinxes. But much time is spent on slow, lazy love-making, cuddling under the stars and enjoying the last peaceful days.

Just as they're leaving to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding, Hermione turns around in the door, looks at the little cottage again.

"The next time I'll come here, it'll be when the war is over," she whispers with a strange surety in her changed voice. Viktor comes to hug her from behind and so they stay for a moment more, the last moment of peace before the storm.

 

"I love you," she says into the kiss and then turns around to grab Ron and Harry, and Apparate them somewhere safe. Well, safer than this. Viktor starts throwing curses, shielding the escaping guests, desperately trying to not think about Hermione being out there, with all of the Dark Lord's might after her.

 

Away from the war, the year drags for Viktor, only from time to time speeding along with his heart when her patronus appears, usually in the middle of the night – he knows, she’s careful not to send it during a quidditch practice or a game. The life in Bulgaria goes slowly on without noticing the war and fires burning somewhere out there. Viktor notes the tiredness in her voice, then her despair, her fear, her exhaustion – and for him the war is much too close for comfort.

Finally, at the beginning of May, her patronus says what he's been both waiting for and absolutely dreading.

"Hogwarts will be the last stand," the otter tells him and Viktor jumps to reach for his wand, dragonhide cloak and emergency portkey. "Go through Hogsmeade Apparition point and then to Hog's Head. The barman will guide you from there."

He goes.

He walks through the village in the middle of evacuation, enters the pub and follows the long corridor through a portrait - only to find Hermione, arms wide open, at the end of it. He holds her close for a moment, she smells of fire and wind. When she looks up to kiss him, her face is that of a grown and exhausted woman, not a girl anymore. It doesn't matter. He loves her either way.

"Let's finish this," she says, fingers trembling only slightly.

"Stay close to me."

They step into the melee, the hurricane of pure energy and blinding lights, of screams of pain and quiet whimpers of the dying. Viktor sets on fire a Death Eater who tries to curse her. She casts a slashing curse on the one who nearly got Viktor from behind. In the small reprieve, when Lord Voldemort speaks to them directly and her hands squeeze his forearms, they hold each other like on that night in Hospital Wing years ago, when they still could be the scared children.

"Go," he mutters. "Don't die. Find me after."

She presses a hasty, desperate kiss onto his lips and just like that she's out of his arms, running after Harry. Viktor sighs and helps McGonagall build a sturdy barricade, then goes to organize search parties for the dead and the wounded. That's all he can do, after all, while he waits for her to save the world.

He sees the Weasleys, one of them on the floor amongst the dead and Viktor realizes with a pang that it’s Ron. Krum stands to the side and says a silent prayer for the young man who went with Hermione where Viktor couldn’t follow and who saw her through it. He owes him as much.

Viktor stands next to still weeping Hermione when Hagrid brings Harry's dead body. Her fingers reach for his - and Viktor regrets everything he never got to say. Because this is how they die, this is how this story ends.

(No. It's really not.)

In this story, like in every other, there is the Chosen One and the Dark Lord. There's a Final Battle that will come down in history as the decisive win of the Light. This part of the story never changes - because there will always be a Chosen One, and there will always be a Dark Lord. No matter what the story is and who the heroes are.

So in the middle of the bloodshed and epic duels, Hermione and Viktor dance between colorful flashes of spells, wound, kill, cut, curse and cry, all at the same time. In this moment the world is ending - or maybe it's beginning anew. And then, just like that, everything stops.

"Harry," she whispers and with a sob runs to embrace the Savior where he stands, unmistakably alive, over the already decaying carcass of the fallen Dark Lord. Viktor looks up, at the blue skies over Hogwarts, and laughs while tears threaten to spill.

 

They don't stay for the cleanup. Viktor and Hermione wait for the funerals to be over, ignore the Ministry's missives and invitations, the Order of Merlin galas and several charities. After the last one Hermione kisses Harry's cheek, takes Viktor's hand and they go home. Their little cottage stands in the woods, cozy and welcoming as always, and on a whim he takes her in his arms and carries her through the threshold as if she’s his bride.

"Hermione, I..."

She rests her fingers against his lips.

"Shhh. We have time, Viktor. The rest of our lives, in fact."

All is well.

 

 


End file.
